


Year One

by ValBirch



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValBirch/pseuds/ValBirch
Summary: Hawkins, 1985. Eleven is home and things are good.





	Year One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Stranger Things Big Bang on Tumblr!

**I. Winter**

With her feverish forehead pressed up against the cool glass of the kitchen window, El looked on wistfully as snowflakes fell in the dim moonlight. They were her favourite kind of snowflake, thick and lush and coating the ground rapidly. It would almost certainly be the last snowfall of the year, a late gust of winter just at the end of February, before Hawkins was pushed into the inevitable forward momentum toward spring. El felt disappointed that, being sick with what Joyce had called _the flu_ , she was stuck indoors, feeling weak and tired, unable to look forward to tomorrow, a Saturday, spent in the snow with her friends skating, building a snowman, sledding, or doing any of the other fun things Mike, the rest of the boys, and Max had introduced her to in January.

“El?” She heard Joyce’s tired voice calling out to her from the living room and turned away with one last longing glance at the line of trees just beyond their yard, now barely visible through the flurries. El staggered on frail and sore legs back to the makeshift bed that Joyce had prepared for her on the living room sofa—she had been granted unlimited television privileges to make up for her bedridden state.

“What are you doing up, honey?” Joyce asked, gesturing towards the clock that hung on the wall opposite the couch. As she dragged her feet across the carpet, El glanced up at the clock as well. It was nearing ten o’clock. Joyce sat on the very edge of the sofa, still in the work uniform she had come home in just after eight, her face full of concern as she took in the deep bags under El’s eyes and the pallor of her skin. It reminded Joyce, with a pang of guilt, of the evening they had made Eleven look for Will in that awful place.

“Bored,” El complained, her voice raspy and her throat struggling to emit even that monosyllable. “Can’t sleep.”

“I know,” Joyce sighed apologetically, cracking a small smile. She patted the cushion, indicating that El should join her. “But you need to rest. Let me feel your forehead again.” El sidled onto the sofa and settled into the fresh-smelling blankets, snuggling up with her stuffed penguin—a Christmas gift from Steve and Nancy—and closing her eyes as Joyce’s hand came to rest on her forehead. El enjoyed the sudden coolness over her uncomfortably warm skin and relaxed into Joyce’s touch.

Joyce, however, frowned, concerned at the high temperature El was running again. The fever seemed to make her nightmares even worse. There had only been a handful of nights since El had taken up residence in the Byers house that she hadn’t crept apologetically into Joyce’s room in the middle of the night and climbed, as quietly as possible, into bed next to her—only a handful of nights during which Joyce hadn’t been woken by the shifting of her mattress and pulled a shivering girl close to her chest, kissing her shoulder softly and whispering to her until her breathing steadied and she had returned to sleep.

But the fever these last three nights had caused El to wake shrieking from her sleep, tears streaming down her face as Joyce and her two boys leapt out of bed and hurried into the living room—Jonathan and Will from the room they had started sharing until more permanent accommodations could be found for El.

Patiently, Joyce brushed a stray curl behind El’s ear and began to tell her a story in hushed tones, her own eyes growing heavy as she recited the details of a Dungeons and Dragons campaign she remembered Will telling her about the previous summer.

\-----

When Jonathan came through the door an hour later, blowing into his bare hands for warmth, he went down the hall and saw his mother, bent over and asleep by El’s feet, the younger girl looking peaceful, despite the dark curls that stuck to her forehead with the sweat of a fever.

“Mom,” Jonathan whispered, gently prodding Joyce’s arm and kneeling so that he was level with her, “Mom, wake up.” Joyce startled awake, her eyes wide with something between shock and alarm. “You should go to bed,” Jonathan said in a soothing tone, helping her to her feet. Joyce shook her head firmly.

“Someone needs to look after El,” Joyce sighed, “In case she starts dreaming.”

“Mom,” Jonathan insisted with a pointed look, “I can take care of El for a couple hours. You need to sleep—properly.”

“But Jonathan…” Joyce insisted, trying to keep her voice low.

“It’s fine,” Jonathan smiled, “Steve brought me a coffee a couple hours before the end of my shift so I’m still wide awake. And tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll be fine.”

After several more moments of earnest encouragement, Jonathan was able to convince Joyce that sleep was in her best interest—she had an early shift at the general store tomorrow. He watched, stifling a yawn, as she walked down the hall towards her bedroom, pausing in front of Will’s room. She always checked on him prior to turning in for the night.

“He’s at the Henderson’s,” Jonathan reminded her gently. They had decided it would be best for Will to be out of the house until El was feeling better. He had already missed a lot of school in the past year. Joyce laughed to herself quietly and nodded, continuing down the hall. When his mother’s door had closed, Jonathan glanced at El, still sound asleep, and quickly slipped into his own bedroom to grab the phone, dialling a familiar number as he returned to the living room. After three rings, a soft and warm female voice filled his ears.

“Hey Nance,” Jonathan greeted her, “As requested, I’m letting you know I’m home from work.” The words felt odd coming from his mouth—Jonathan hadn’t quite yet grown used to someone outside of his family showing him care in tangible ways.

“How was it?” Nancy asked, “Steve mentioned he brought you coffee.” Jonathan heard Steve call out something muffled in the background and the distinct noise of a slap. He grinned.

“Yeah, he loitered around the theatre for a bit,” Jonathan replied, “How are things there?”

“Good. Pretty sure Mike’s coming down with whatever El has. He hasn’t stopped coughing all night.”

The conversation continued for some time until Jonathan noticed El squirming from the corner of his eye. He abruptly ended his call with Nancy and Steve, wanting to intervene before the nightmare he knew she was having got any worse.

“Hey El,” Jonathan placed a hand on her arm and patted gently. The girl’s lips were moving rapidly, though nothing but a quiet whimper sounded out. Even in sleep, she looked troubled, her brow furrowed and her forehead creased. It painfully reminded Jonathan of Will’s first months back home. With some more gentle encouragement, Jonathan watched as El’s eyes fluttered open, wide and frightened at first, though calming when they saw him smiling down at her. “How are you feeling?”

“Jon,” El smiled and Jonathan smiled back, remembering when she had decided to call him that on a full-time basis. _Jonathan_ , she had said shyly, _Jon for short?_

“Bad dream?” Jonathan asked, placing a hand to her forehead. El nodded weakly. “Do you want some tea?” Another nod and El shifted until she was sitting up against her mountain of pillows. She watched the hands of the clock tick on slowly until the kettle whistled from the kitchen.

“If this snow keeps up we’ll be able to go sledding again once you feel better,” Jonathan grinned upon his return, passing her the cup of tea. “Careful,” he warned, “It’s hot. Do you want me to get an ice cube for it?”

“No thanks,” El said with a short shake of her head. After a pause, blowing on her tea, she asked, “Will you bring Steve sledding?” She had taken a liking to the older boy and his piggyback rides. Jonathan laughed.

“Sure thing,” Jonathan said.

\-----

Just as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, a bright glare bouncing off the banks of snow that had gathered overnight, Mike Wheeler was slowly waking up several streets over, his shoulders, head, and throat all aching. With effort, Mike dragged himself from bed and to Nancy’s bedroom door. His sister was already up and preparing for the day, fully dressed and brushing her hair in front of her mirror, still adorned with pictures of Barb, though there were now some of her and Steve and Jonathan. 

Nancy took one look at her little brother and her face broke into a small grin. “You look awful,” she said, “Just go back to bed. I’ll let mom know you’re sick.”

Mike blinked a few times, his head spinning as he processed what she said and nodded. “Can I have the phone though?” He was shocked by the sound of his own voice, raspy and hard. Nancy laughed, finding her brother’s morning routine of calling El endearing, and reached over to her dresser to grab the phone for him. Mike thanked her quietly and shuffled back to his room, dialing the number he had memorized from years of friendship with Will.

“Hi Mike.” After several seconds, El’s voice sounded weak from the other end of the phone.

“Hey El,” he grinned into the receiver, his voice also strained, “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she replied, “Maybe. You don’t sound good.”

“I think I caught what you have,” Mike said weakly, wincing at his choice of words and hoping it wouldn’t make El feel guilty.

“Sorry,” El sounded dejected and Mike shook his head vigorously before remembering she couldn’t see him.

“It’s nothing, El,” he insisted, his voice rising an octave. “I just called to say good morning. I’m going to see if my mom will let me come over today, since we’re both sick and all.”

“Oh,” El felt butterflies flutter in her stomach at the thought of seeing Mike, “I miss you.” On the other side of the phone, Mike felt his cheeks aflame, and not just due to his increasingly feverish temperature. She missed him? 

“I miss you too, El,” he said happily. And maybe it was the fever he was running, but Mike felt a sudden desire to spill the depth of his feelings. “I can’t wait to see you. I l—” Mike’s sentence was cut short by a coughing fit that shook him, growing from deep in his chest. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to go see El that day.

\-----

**II. Spring**

The last of the snow had melted by the end of March and Karen Wheeler was immediately concerned about her garden. Because she had taken to watching Eleven during the days while the boys were at school and Joyce and Jonathan were usually both at work, Karen often had a companion in the garden. It made her less lonely—something she had feared would happen when Holly had started preschool. And El was an excellent addition to her springtime planting.

El liked the feeling of dirt underneath her fingernails. It was so different from the ashy dust that coated the world of the Upside Down. The dirt in Karen’s garden was alive and cool, it moved in her fingers and El could almost feel a pulse in the ground when she set to digging with her hands.

It was an early foray into the garden, re-planting some tomatoes that Karen had been growing in the kitchen, digging through the dirt at the very edge of the garden, when El found the decayed wooden monument. She was unsure what it is at first—a pair of small polished branches, bundled together to look like the letter T, worn with the signs of winter. Curious, El set it aside and made a note to ask Mike about it later.

When Mike got home from school that afternoon, shrugging off his backpack by the front door, El rose from her spot on the couch next to Holly and met him as he kicked off his shoes.

“Mike?” she came up behind him and whispered his name softly. Mike, as always, immediately turned around. The smile on his face disappeared as his eyes fell on the object in El’s hands.

“El,” he breathed, quickly grabbing the figure from her hands, “I…oh my god…I…” El noticed how his lip was quivering and his hands were shaking. She noticed his dark eyes filled with tears and worry grew in the pit of her stomach.

“What do you need?” she asked, repeating the question that Mike always posed to her when she was having a difficult time. Mike’s shoulders slumped and he pulled her into a tight hug. For a moment, she stiffened at the unexpected contact before sinking into Mike’s arms—they were a safe place; they always had been.

“I’m sorry, El,” she heard his voice in her ear and frowned, pulling herself back a little to look at his face.

“About what?” she asked. Mike struggled to find the words, unwilling to think about the day, over a year ago, when he had pressed that tiny cross into the dirt of his mother’s garden, Nancy beside him with a hand on his shoulder for comfort. He remembered, all too clearly, the words that had tumbled from his lips—stories about El, how much he missed her, how he had wanted nothing more than to help her find a sense of happiness and normalcy.

“Mike?” El pressed on carefully when he didn’t respond and Mike took a deep, steadying breath.

“It’s from, uh, it’s from when you were…gone.” El’s face drew into a frown and she took to staring at the cross, her expression troubled. Mike knew that she understood. “I thought you were…I thought you weren’t going to…come back.” Mike could hear that his words sounded choked as they came from his throat.

With a clatter, the cross fell to the ground, dropping from El’s fingertips as she threw her arms around Mike’s chest and pulled him close, burying her head against the soft fabric of his striped shirt. Mike felt a spot of dampness blossom on his chest and hugged El tightly, his fingers drawing patterns on her back in the way he knew she liked, the way that relaxed her.

“I’m sorry,” El mumbled against his shirt and Mike gently kissed the top of her head.

“No,” he said firmly, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ever believed you were gone. Even for a second. I was so stupid.”

“I was,” El began, pausing to sniffle, her nose scrunching up in the adorable way Mike loved, “I was gone for a long time.”

“I know,” Mike whispered, swallowing hard, “But I should have waited. I should have known.”

El shook her head. “I’m staying forever now.” As if to emphasize her point, she tightened her grip around him again and Mike felt a pinching in his ribs. For someone so petite, she had enough strength to practically squeeze the air out of his lungs—although, that may have also had something to do with her closeness. He wanted, more than anything, to tell her then—to whisper those three seemingly insignificant yet supremely important words into her ears, yet he refrained. Mike had always imagined telling her such a thing when they were happy and smiling. He wanted her to associate it with positivity and beauty—like dancing in the woods or curling up by the Christmas tree. So, for the time being, he settled with pressing his forehead against hers and smiling.

“I’m happy,” Mike said, his words thick on his twisted tongue, “I’m happy we’re here. Together.”

“Me too.”

In the month that followed, El visited her sunflower plant every day, each day growing brighter with the sight of more and more of the yellow petals that she loved so much. Mike took to keeping a vase full of the sunflowers on the sill of his bedroom window.

\-----

The smell of fresh grass and damp soil filled their nostrils as Mike and El walked, hand-in-hand, through the woods towards the Wheeler’s house. El, enamoured by the loftiness of spring, took care to point out every squirrel she watched scurrying up a tree and Mike picked her some newly bloomed wildflowers, glad that he had taken preemptive medication to help with his allergies. El brought their soft purple petals up to her nose and took a deep breath and Mike caught himself staring at the way the flowers made the warm chocolate tone of her eyes sparkle. He realized, after a long moment, that she was returning his stare over the flowers, a grin playing on her lips.

“What?” Mike blurted out with a laugh, wondering vaguely if his hair was sticking up again. It had become so unruly since the fall that he had long since grown accustomed to El pressing onto her tiptoes to smooth down the piece just at his crown that refused to behave itself.

“Do you want to dance?” El asked, fluttering her eyelashes at him in a way he was sure was purposefully adorable. Mike looked at her sideways as his face cracked into a smile.

“You want to dance here?” he repeated, dramatically heightening his incredulity. El nodded with enthusiasm. The spring formal was coming up and Mike had asked her to be his date — that was the word he had stammered out three weeks ago in the Wheeler’s front entryway with red cheeks, avoiding her gaze. And, based on how many times they had bumped heads and stepped, wincing and giggling, on one another’s toes at the Snow Ball, El figured they could use some practice. Given that they hardly had any alone time now that she was living in the Byers’ crowded home and at the Wheeler’s there was always a friend or Holly to give attention to, El thought this was a good a time as ever.

“We need practice,” she said, a cheeky grin rising onto her lips. Mike tried to look offended, but he couldn’t keep up the façade, laughing instead. He too remembered the mortification of stepping on El’s toes and knew that she was really just nicely saying that he needed practice.

“Alright then,” he feigned a heavy sigh before shrugging off his backpack. El looked thrilled and set down her bouquet of wildflowers on top of the backpack. Tentatively, Mike took a step forward, his hand automatically coming up to rub the back of his neck, as it always did when he was nervous. El smiled with encouragement and closed the gap between them, loosely draping her arms over Mike’s shoulders while his hands came to rest gently on her waist. He still couldn’t quite fathom the bliss he felt at having her so close.

Mike began humming a tune, off-key, and El couldn’t help but to laugh against his shoulder. He had grown so tall in the last few months and El was still getting used to the fact he could rest his chin on the top of her head, something he did at that moment as they began to sway, Mike allowing El to lead the way given that she was naturally so much more graceful than he imagined himself to be.

But April always brought rain to Hawkins, cutting their practice short. Heavy droplets began to fall, cold and icy against their cheeks, drenching their light sweaters. It was unexpected, an otherwise warm and only slightly overcast day, leaving Mike and El soaked.

“Follow me!” Mike shouted over the rain as he snatched up his backpack and the flowers. His free hand grasped El’s and pulled her along, their sneakered feet sloshing in the mud, the bright pink fabric of El’s favourite Converse streaked with dirt.

They reached Castle Byers in just under six minutes, already soaked to the bone, but laughing breathlessly as they crawled through the white sheet, dirtied with winter, that acted as a doorway to their hideaway.

“It’s not the best shelter,” Mike said sheepishly, glancing at where water dripped in from between the branches of the fort, the parts that weren’t covered by the blue tarp the boys had placed over the fort for the winter. “But it’s better than being out there.”

“It’s nice,” El smiled, “Dry. Sort of.” Surrendering to the situation, El dropped into a sitting position, crossing her legs underneath her and picking at the distressed knees in her jeans.

Laughing, Mike set aside the flowers and took to chewing his bottom lip as he dropped down beside her. He glanced at El, her curls dripping down her shoulders, and the little bit of mascara she had started wearing smudged under her eyes. She looked beautiful and Mike felt drawn towards her. He noticed, heat rising to his cheeks, that El was looking at him shyly, her eyes cast down towards his lips. Slowly, he leaned forward, his hand coming up to find hers, intertwining their fingers. Their lips were nearly touching and he felt long-unspoken words bubbling up on his lips. Mike mentally steeled himself—he could do this; he would do this. Drawing in a deep breath, pushing all of El’s imagined reactions out of his mind, he opened his mouth, yet did not have the time to speak a word.

At that moment, another body came bustling into the fort—Max, her long red hair flat against her face, her jeans streaked with mud and a deep frown on her face.

“Max!” Mike and El scooted apart and Max froze upon seeing them, her expression morphing from deeply unhappy to shocked to surprised, her eyes remaining red and puffy.

“Are you okay?” El asked. Max nodded and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her denim jacket and flopped onto the ground beside El. It was crowded with the three of them in there, especially given the newfound length of Mike’s legs and Max’s tendency to fidget, yet they huddled together, unbothered by the closeness.

“I’m fine,” Max muttered her response, “What are y—“

“Max,” El interrupted her softly and placed an arm around her friend’s shoulder, “You’re not fine. You were crying.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, yet tinged with empathy. Mike was reminded of that day on the tracks when she had said “I understand” and he had realized that maybe there was more to that strange girl than he could ever imagine.

Mike saw Max gulp. She always kept up a façade, especially in front of her friends. From the basement, he had once overhead Steve and Nancy talking about a conversation that Steve had had with the younger girl—he stopped listening when the topic of Billy’s drinking came up. Mike felt like he was intruding on something Max didn’t want him to know.

“I can leave,” he said quietly, making a move to stand up, but Max shook her head.

“It’s okay,” she sighed, taking a deep and steadying breath. “I just…my mom…she’s such a _bitch_.” El placed her head on Max’s shoulder and Mike reached out and patted her arm.

“She said she never wanted me.” A silence followed, deep and thoughtful, and Max began to cry, making a great effort to stop herself. She hated crying in front of people, especially in front of El who, Max always tried to remind herself, had way more problems that she did.

El frowned. She couldn’t imagine having a mother—as much as Joyce and Karen had come to fill in that role, there was still a part of her that knew they weren’t her real mother. She could, even less so, imagine having a mother who said the things that Max’s mother did.

“It’s okay,” Mike’s voice drew El out of her thoughts, “You’ll always have us. We’ll always want you.” Max’s shoulders slumped and she sunk down further between Mike and El, glad to have them. They sat together for hours, until the sun was out again, and then Mike led them home to where Karen had prepared dinner. Max slept over at the Byers’ house that evening and let El braid her hair.

\-----

**III. Summer**

El and Mike sat in the tall grass, the bright green blades tickling their bare legs, ice cream sandwiches rapidly melting in the stifling heat, running over their fingers. El frowned at the mess and Mike couldn’t help but to grin at the troubled expression on her face as her ice cream got away from her.

“ _I’ll stop the world and melt with you,_ ” he sang quietly, adopting the tune from Modern English’s famous song—one he knew El loved because she would turn the dial on the radio up each time it came on. El’s eyes moved away from her melting ice cream sandwich and met his gaze with a raised eyebrow and a small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Mike grinned, the same goofy expression that always lit up his face when El gave him that semi-exasperated, semi-adoring look. He was so lost in contemplation that he didn’t notice—not until it was far too late—that El had dipped her finger into the gooey ice cream and was springing forward towards him, impish smile on her face.

Mike felt the ice cream smear across his left cheek, just under his eye and sputtered. Taking a moment to perform being offended, Mike tossed his ice cream sandwich aside and wiped at his cheek with the hem of his blue and green t-shirt before launching towards El, causing her to squeal as she scrambled to get away from him, scooting across the grass in a hurry. Mike, with a triumphant shout, managed to grasp at her ankle and began tickling the bottoms of her feet without mercy—the only place she was ticklish, a fact he had discovered just a few months earlier. El was alternating between gleeful laughter and fits of begging him to stop. With a satisfied grin, Mike relented and threw himself down next to her in the grass and propped himself up on his elbow, twisting to look at her. With his free hand he reached out and tentatively touched her arm, browning in the sun, sliding his finger down to the charm bracelet on her wrist and playing with it. He had given her that bracelet the previous Christmas and it made his heart swell with pride to see that she wore it everyday without fail.

That familiar and nearly irresistible urge, that desire to say those words came flaring up again. This time he would do it—he had spent so much time thinking about it. Mike knew he was ready. He had fallen asleep thinking about this moment every night for as long as he could remember.

“El,” Mike whispered, his gaze shifting nervously from her eyes to the charm bracelet and back again. “I…”

“Wheeler!” The Chief’s voice rang out over the open yard and Mike immediately let go of El’s wrist, his heart hammering in his chest as the two teens glanced over to where Hopper stood on the porch, looking at them. “Phone’s for you!” Hopper held up the device in his hands and Mike dared to breath the smallest sigh of relief as he hurried over to the older man.

“Hello?” Mike wasn’t sure what he heard on the other line, but it was a cacophony of voices and shouting and he was certain he heard a dull thud, as though someone had just been punched. “Dustin? Lucas?” He paused, listening as Dustin’s voice, frustrated sounded into his ear. “What do you mean you’re at my house?” Mike said, exasperated.

“I thought you were joking about camping out at the Chief’s,” Dustin retorted. In the background, Mike heard Lucas’s frustrated groan and something that sounded distinctly like _I told you, dumbass._ Mike rolled his eyes, making a mental note to never let Dustin live this down. 

\-----

That evening, the six friends sat shoulder to shoulder around a crackling fire that the Chief had started for them.

“What’s more red?” Dustin said jokingly, “The fire or Max’s hair?”

Max reached out and punched Dustin in the shoulder. “Neither are gonna be as red as your butt after I kick it.” Dustin grinned at her and went back to his marshmallow, charring it ever so slightly before sliding it between two graham crackers and a slab of milk chocolate—the perfect s’more, he insisted just as Max suggested they tell ghost stories.

\-----

When Will woke up in the middle of the night, a cold sweat dripping down his back, he crawled out of sleeping bag as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake Mike, who was lying beside him, arms splayed over his head. He had almost made it out of the tent when he heard Mike shifting and froze, his face falling at the thought of disturbing his friend.

“Will?” The sound of Mike’s concerned whisper made Will sigh in defeat. He hated waking people.

“Sorry,” Will mumbled, pausing on his way out of the tent. “I was just going to get some air.”

“You okay?” Mike asked groggily, “Did you have another nightmare?” At that point, Will gave up trying to assure Mike he could fall back asleep. The taller boy was already sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Will nodded mutely, shrugging his shoulders in an effort to play off how frightened he was.

“Yeah,” Will muttered, “I think Max’s ghost stories got to me.”

“Want to wake the Chief?”

“No, it’s fine,” Will insisted. He definitely didn’t want Hopper to know about this because the word would surely get back to his mother and she had enough to deal with. His nightmares had caused enough problems last year and these were different—they were actual nightmares, not moments of transport to a shadow world full of decay. Will knew these weren’t real.

“I’ll come with you for some air,” Mike suggested brightly, “It’s hot in here anyways.” Will obliged, aware that there was no point in arguing with Mike. The two boys walked to the edge of the lake and sat by its edge, their bare feet in the water, the edges of their pyjama bottoms turning dark from the small lapping ripples against their ankles.

“Dustin told me,” Will said suddenly. Mike looked over at him, confused and Will stared out over the lake, watching as a fish jumped in the distance. “That they pulled a fake body from the pond at the quarry,” he explained, drawing his legs up and hugging them to his chest, his chin resting on his knees. Mike pursed his lips, dark eyes growing clouded with concern.

“Will,” he began tentatively, searching for the right words, “We don’t need to talk about this.” He wasn’t entirely sure whether he was speaking those words for Will or for himself. He still had nightmares of that bright orange vest emerging from the water and remembered, with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, how the tears had stung his eyes, how his lungs had fought to breath, as he had biked home that night.

“I want to,” Will said, trying to sound as convinced as he felt. He bit his bottom lip, a nervous habit that he had picked up some time in the first grade. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“Are you serious Byers?” Mike couldn’t help but to chuckle. This was so like Will. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, I guess, it’s just—”

“Stop blaming yourself for everything, Will,” Mike sighed. It had always been like this, whenever Will’s dad would fail to show up for something, he would blame himself for not being good enough. Mike leaned over and ruffled Will’s hair. “You’re back now and things are better. That’s all that matters.”

\-----

**IV. Autumn**

When Karen asked Mike to rake together the leaves in the backyard, he wasn’t particularly thrilled and his journey to the garage to retrieve the rake was accompanied by disgruntled mumbling. However, the chore become slightly less horrible when his mom gave him permission to invite El over. He wasted no time in jumping towards the phone and calling her.

It was just past noon when Mike finally tossed aside the rake and laid down in the damp leaves. He turned to look at El next to him, marvelling at the way the bright oranges and yellows contrasted against her dark curls and the sparkle in her eyes in the sunlight. El, catching him staring, playfully stuck out her tongue. Mike grinned. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that, right El?”

“So are you, Mike,” she smiled at him, rolling on her her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows. Mike felt his heart speed up just a bit under her warm gaze. Was now the right time to tell her? It had been almost a year since she had come back and it seemed right—it had for a long time. Smiling gently, Mike scooted closer to El and flushed when she leaned her head against his shoulder, sighing contentedly.

“There’s something I wanted t—” 

Mike’s voice was cut off by a screeching Holly, who came running over, leaping through the leaves and sending them blowing around the yard. Mike’s mouth fell open, speechless at the thought of having to finish the raking all over again. El, laughing hysterically, got up and chased Holly around the yard a few times while Mike half-heartedly began gathering the leaves with the rake again. When El noticed what he was doing she wiggled her eyebrows at him before the focused look that Mike recognized so well came over her face.

With a loose flick of her wrist, the leaves were swept off the ground, swirling around Holly, who giggled delightedly, before they came to rest in a pile once more—much neater than the one Mike had originally formed.

“You couldn’t have done that in the first place?” Mike laughed.

“I like spending time with you,” she said with a simple shrug. Mike couldn’t argue with that logic. 

\-----

The Hawkins Harvest Festival was one of Mike’s favourite events and signalled that his and El’s favourite season was in full swing. Autumn had him suffering none of the allergies that spring brought and was comparatively free of the bugs—and awful birds—that were a constant during the summer. He was especially excited this year as it was the first Harvest Festival El would experience and she was already looking forward to it as, weeks prior, the friends had ended their Dungeons and Dragons game with a discussion of their favourite activities. Dustin rambled on for nearly ten minutes about the cakewalk and how he had perfected the science of the game before Lucas cut him off, proudly mentioning his proficiency in the cornstalk maze—offering to take El for a walk through it. Will would be volunteering at the face-painting booth that year and was eager to practice on his friends while Max took to describing all the amazing foods one could get at the Harvest Festival, including the endless supply of pies baked by the women in town.

“What’s your favourite activity?” El had asked, looking at Mike with intense interest. He shrugged nonchalantly and gave a small, sheepish grin. 

“The hayride.” Mike’s answer had been met with a chorus of awws from the rest of the group and some vague kissing sounds from Dustin until Mike had leaned over and shoved him.

The day of the Harvest Festival was crammed with activities and it wasn’t until the end of the day that El gently reminded Mike they had yet to go on the hayride. While majority of their friends opted to get one last candy apple before the stands closed for the night, El and Mike joined a small line of people waiting for the day’s final hayride. Max and Steve tagged along, sharing a bag of kettle-corn.

On the wagon, Steve and Max were each trying to put hay in the other’s hair while El and Mike watched, laughing at their shenanigans, El trying—unsuccessfully—to stifle a yawn. As they ambled along the dirt path surrounding the farm, the wagon’s back wheel hit an expected hole in the ground, causing it to lurch roughly. Mike heard El gasp just as her hand grabbed onto his and squeezed tightly. Instinctively his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. 

“I love you El,” he blurt out, just loud enough for him to hear. In the setting sun, El smiled. 

“I love you too, Mike.” 

Mike felt his cheeks flush as El leaned up and brushed her lips against his freckles for a fraction of a second. It had been a good year.


End file.
